


declaration

by ClassyFangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley mourns, in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	declaration

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr, for an anonymous prompt.

“You bloody _arse,_ ” Crowley said.

He was standing in a horrid little cabin in the middle of nowhere, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets as he glowered at nothing in particular- the floor, the walls, the damned _ugliness_ of the place, so unlike his favored mansions and high-end hotel suites. Crowley huffed.

“You absolute _piss-pot,_ ” he continued. “Going and dying, for one, and then you made those plaid-covered apes burn your bones, you bloody martyr. D’you know how hard it is to find a soul after you burn the body? It is fucking _impossible,_ I’ll tell you that. I don’t even know where ghosts go. You’re not in Hell, I know that much.”

Crowley began to pace across the cabin floor. “Beasties wind up in Purgatory, but I don’t think that’s where you are- I bet you’re in Heaven, havin’ the time of your afterlife. Got your good memories- your wife, your Winchesters, all your dead friends. Happy as a bloody clam, you are.”

He turned on his heel and faced the wall. “You _shit,_ ” he growled. “You stupid bloody _shit,_ going and dying- what’d you go and do that for, eh?” Crowley clenched his fists. “Leavin’ me with the Winchesters and the angels and that damn little prophet- _alone_ down here. I-"

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “‘S no fun without you,” he grumbled. “Bloody boring, it is. I just…”

The cabin was very, very quiet. Crowley sighed.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered. “You arse. Fuck.” He ran a hand down his face. “Bobby Singer. _Fuck_ me, I am a bloody fool.”

He flitted away, off to somewhere nicer, somewhere without memories. A draft blew the curtains in the little cabin.


End file.
